Pothead

I know that’s a rather salacious title, but would you have clicked on this blog post if I hadn’t used it?

Didn’t think so.

So minor tangent, I was watching Iliza Shlesinger’s newest Netflix standup show – Confirmed Kills – and died lol’ing by myself in bed last night. Thanks, Cass for the recommendation! She delves into female-only humor – the idiocy of “Je suis mermaid” t-shirts, the effort it requires to take a selfie (#makeitpointy), and the engrained desire within woman for self-improvement.

And most relevant to me on that last point, she brought up that so often women are “working on themselves”, “taking classes”, “searching for themselves” and taking a “canning class” and essentially “drinking tea brewed from their own hair.” I haven’t gotten that far, though learning to pickle veg and brew beer are on my list.

But I have, like the basic b*tch millennial that I am, taken up some creative hobbies as opposed to racking up Tinder likes and empty bottles of wine. And it’s been, please excuse the exaggeration, life-changing, like actually.

So I took a pottery class with my friend Haley through Verlocal, at Peach Tree Pottery on the westside. A cute little workroom, complete with a Black Keys soundtrack and the cutest instructor, who didn’t mind our complete newness and my desire for good light to instagram.

What I love about pottery, aside from being so entirely tactile, is the amount of focus it takes. You really can’t ponder about last night’s text or what you’ll have for lunch. The mesmorizing wheel, the feel of the clay, the critical moments of shaping – it’s incredibly therapeutic. We were able to make two objects and I made a bowl and vase. Next time, I’d like to make a matte mug set that run for a bajillion dollars at craft fairs.

So at the risk of embodying the grandmother I’ve always run the risk of becoming, I am so going back.

*That was a really long lead-up to some pretty photos. You’re welcome.